[E D I T E D]

KILL YOUR MIND
❝life is simply a mix of mayhem and magnolias, so embrace this gentle riot and gather flowers along the way.❞

05. Backstabbing Betrayals

HONESTLY, THINGS COULD HAVE GONE A LOT WORSE than they had done. The journey to the headquarters continued in silence, aside from the constant line of amazement coming from Katherine as she sat alongside Natasha Romanoff at the front of the jet, and it was only properly broken when the two girls were split upon arrival. After landing, troops of agents flooded in like ants and the pair were dragged apart kicking and screaming. The two avengers, so called heroes, simply watched from afar in regret as they shrieked hysterically for them to help and grasped onto each other as though they were their lifeline. Elizabeth kept desperately trying to use her 'curse' but she was already too weak from a combination of lack of sleep, lack of energy, and a lack of ingested food which only seemed to increase her rage.

Eventually, they were both sedated.

Being dragged along the floor, being held up by two men on either side of her, Elizabeth simply stared at her feet. She was dancing on the thin line between consciousness, unable to utilize her powers whilst so drugged, and the agents hold on her upper arms were only bruising her worse. Her head lolled to the side every now and again. With the tips of her toes barely grazing the floor below her, she could briefly see Natasha and Clint barking orders in front of her and the familiar twang of betrayal pains her chest alongside the persistent tugs towards Clint.

It felt like only a few seconds of resting her eyes but by the time she'd opened them, she was sat and bound to a chair with a table lamp glaring in her face. Everything hurt and the feeling of the blinding light reminded her of a hangover. A really fucking bad hangover.

❝Jesus Christ, I didn't know pirates were still around. You lose your eyeball or just rolling with the aesthetic?❞

Elizabeth Tyler groans, finally focusing on the man sat opposite her, and gets a good look at her interrogator. He wasn't young, obviously not in his twenties anymore, but he also didn't look a moment away from forgetting his own name. He was sporting a memorable black patch over his left eye and yet his death glare didn't seem to waver for a moment. The room they were in was small. Obviously only there for the purpose of getting information. What information they wanted; Elizabeth didn't have a clue.

❝Miss Tyler, my name is Nick Fury and I'm going to ask you a series of questions of which you will tell me the truth. Avoid the question and our methods will become more - well - persuasive.❞

The silence was deafening. Director Fury simply stared at her with a steel eye that never shied away from her responding glare. He was sat, looking at her through a single hostile slit, awaiting her response but Elizabeth could only protect herself with the only way she knew how. With a defence mechanism engrained in her since her times in the hell hole she escaped from; she was pretty sure she wasn't going to last long. Deflection could only get one individual so far.

He was still looking at her expectantly and realization shone through her features as she notices that he's waiting for a response.

❝Sorry I'm just wondering - which eye do I look at? Because I'm honestly drawn to the pirate's patch but, you know, it might rub you up the wrong way. Oh, and are you the leader of SHIELD who ordered for us to be killed on site or the one who wanted us alive because by this point, I'm struggling to see whose who?❞

Elizabeth drawled. Irritation instantly worked its way into Fury's one good eye, but the rest of his features remained impassive. He'd obviously worked with worse, but the young girl was doing a decent job at annoying him. His jaw twitched with anger, but he continued with his almost robotic like interrogating.

❝Miss Tyler, can you recollect how you were given your power?❞

❝Aye Aye Captain.❞

The glare seemingly intensifies. The tension in the room seems to as well and, after making it obvious that she was not going to elaborate, Fury's knuckles begin to turn a paler colour under the pressure of him clenching them so hard.

In all honesty, Elizabeth Tyler was shit scared. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was pretty sure the director could hear it himself and sweat had begun to cling to her hands from nerves.

❝And how did you get them, Miss Tyler?❞

❝I want to speak to someone else. Someone I know.❞

It was a bold move. Asking something similar when being interrogated by Hydra would have led to a series of beatings so it was surprising when, instead of being met by a rage, the man instead leans back in his chair. He narrows his eye at her for a moment before nodding stiffly. Why did everyone look as though they'd spent the past century in the military? Elizabeth couldn't tell if SHIELD had a direct link with the US government, using trained soldiers as agents, or if everyone in the organization had a massive wad of tree stuck up their arses.

For the few minutes of peace, Elizabeth rolled her shoulders back and slumped into her seat. Her hands were tied behind her back with thick rope which was starting to irritate the flesh around it along with Elizabeth herself. With the same material, her feet were bound to the legs of her chair, but her vision was still slightly blurred from the strands of hair in her face. The urge to push them out was great but, of course, she couldn't.

Rolling her head to her left, carefully searching the wall, she discovers the tell-tale sign of hollowness and instantly cranes her head upwards to smile at it. The wall was fake. Along with that, people were watching her from the other side of it. Something much a like a two-way mirror but without the mirror aspect to it. Smiling ruefully, Elizabeth eventually lets her head lean back on the edge of the chairs back. Waiting was quickly becoming boring.

❝Well if it isn't my favourite little back stabber.❞

Clint Barton just narrows his eyes at Elizabeth. He knew, deep down, that he felt guilty for their treatment, but he couldn't interfere with his superiors decisions. He's an agent. Nothing more. His job is to take orders and to obey them.

❝You asked to be questioned by someone you know so here I am.❞

His face remains impassive. His once playful features hold not a drop of warmth anymore whilst staring at the girl in front of him.

❝I meant the red head, dumb ass.❞

That got a reaction from him. His eyebrow cocks up in surprise, and a small hint of a smile ghosts on his face. The agent looks at her in utter humorous confusion. Out of the many years that he'd worked alongside the infamous Black Widow, not one person had ever asked to be interrogated by her instead of him. It was their whole ploy. He was the good cop. She was the angry Russian cop with violent tendencies. And yet here Elizabeth Tyler sat. Mirroring his raised eyebrow and looking at the man expectantly. Clint Barton was a loss for words.

  ❝You want Natasha to interrogate you? You sure about that?❞

He could only imagine the look on Romanoff's, from beyond the wall to his right, as she watches the interaction. They had sent him in out of pity. He could only attempt to picture the surprise Natasha is trying to cover from her face at the notion of being called in and not as a last resort. She was usually the more 'persuasive' method.

❝Did I fucking stutter?❞

He just rolls his eyes.

❝Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.❞

❝Tell the pirate wannabe, I said 'better luck next time'.❞

And with that, another person leaves the room with no answers. Hell, they hadn't even managed to ask a question yet and it had already been a solid twenty minutes. Usually, by this point, they'd be wrapped around SHIELD's pinkie finger.

Currently, she was just proving herself as stubborn as they'd initially heard. The girl was practically an expert at avoiding things. It wouldn't have been surprising knowledge if the girl had simply procrastinated her way out of being killed by the Winter Solider. She'd make a good agent; Fury couldn't help but think. She was old enough. At least, she wasn't a child so training her wouldn't hurt anyone. Especially with the girl's gift. Then again, with her wit rivalling Tony Stark's, would it be the best idea?

Not worth it. He'd have to try the younger one.

❝I'm Agent Romanoff. Now, where did you get your gift?❞

Merely a second through the door and already Natasha Romanoff was firing questions. It was one of the reasons to her success at interrogation. She wasn't easily side tracked.

❝Gift?❞

Elizabeth snorts, mocking the red head in front of her. The agent had taken her seat quickly and quietly, avoiding distracting the questioning, and was now leaning forward on the table. Her face was close to Elizabeth's as she continued to lean on her elbows, purposefully getting in her face, but the younger girl couldn't seem to care. The woman in front of her was extremely beautiful after all so it was hardly an unpleasant experience for Elizabeth albeit a tad distracting.

❝Killing people isn't a gift, Natasha. It's just another reason for people to fear you.❞

Her voice was soft, with just a touch of bitterness, but her face told another story.  She'd tried to use Romanoff's first name to flare a reaction from her but all she'd felt was sorry for the young girl opposite her. In a way, she reminded her of herself.

❝Do people tend to fear you a lot?❞

❝Everyone does. In the end. Even Hydra doesn't have the balls to fuck with me anymore.❞

And therefore, Natasha is good at her job. People tell her things. They don't even seem to realise what they're telling her until it's too late. Yet still she was shocked at the discovery that Hydra had entangled themselves with someone so young.

❝You worked with Hydra?❞

Elizabeth just exhales loudly, looking away. Even under the bright light of the table lamp, the shadows on the girl's face seemed to age her.

❝I've worked for a lot of people.❞

❝Willingly?❞

❝Sometimes. Most of the time? No.❞

❝You're going to have to be a bit more specific, Miss Tyler.❞

Elizabeth just scowled. She didn't regret asking Natasha to interview her. It was easier than having someone glare at her the whole time. The atmosphere in the room was tense, sure, but it also had a hint of understanding. The origin of the Black Widow was not known to Elizabeth Tyler, so she felt no consolidation at the idea that they had both been through shit.

❝Hydra offered me a space in their laboratory and in their mutant group. I was on the streets. I was naïve. I wanted out almost immediately. Took me a solid minute to escape. The KGB pissed me off a few times. Never joined and I don't think they wanted me. Got tangled with the Russian Mafia for a while, not my fault if I'm honest-❞

❝So, you got your ability from Hydra?❞

This made Elizabeth laugh. It was bitter. Natasha flinched slightly at the sudden loud noise. For the past ten minutes, they'd only been conversing in low mumbles, so the quick change hurt both of their ears.

❝I fucking wish. Born this way. Only figured out that I was crazy as shit when trying to escape from-❞

There was a moment of hesitation. Agent Romanoff picked up on it immediately. It was just a small falter but instantly, questions were raised, and alarm bells were ringing. There was something she wasn't telling her. If she were honest, she was slightly impressed that she had hidden it from her for so long. Usually Natasha was quick to pick things up like that.

❝Escape from where?❞

❝Hell.❞

Elizabeth drawls out sarcastically and before Romanoff can work her magic, Nick Fury storms into the room. He didn't look scared, or even worried but he just had a resigned look. As though he were a second away from quitting and becoming a Malibu beach babe.

❝Agent Romanoff. Can I speak with you for a moment?❞

It wasn't a question. The two women in the room knew it so Natasha quickly stands up from her chair and follows the director out. The door swings back open as they leave and just before the door shuts, Elizabeth hears the annoyed mumble,

❝That son of a bitch is back❞

and then the door shuts fully, sealing out all sound.

It's not as though she'd be paying attention any who, because right then, a sharp pulling sensation fired Elizabeth's nerve cells. It was like the tug she felt around Barton but was so hypersensitive that they were barely comparable. Everything within Elizabeth was pulling her to leave, to see whoever had just walked past the door, and, in reminiscence to a stable childhood with a loving parent, felt as though whatever she was being drawn to would provide her with safety. It was nearly painful not to move. Everything flared up but with her hands and legs bound to a chair installed into the flooring, she could hardly follow the newly engrained instinct.

The sensation's severity went away after a while into a dull ache but wouldn't depart until acted on and that wouldn't be for a very long time.